As I turned my head and felt the gasp you made I finally realized times like these require somebody else. One thing for certain is that the grass still makes that crunchy noise when I walk on it in the winter. The dead, bodiless airs seem to at times sneak under my eyelashes and lift my dreaded profounded lids But to see is what was not made for roses And to cry is what was not made for you Minor cuts ache the sprawn attack that was not meant for this person Bad deeds or shall I say persecution brought me will. Dare I use the shaking fingertips that were so abruptly given to me? Be velvet and stained leather as you overcome air rushed lungs and the tingling feeling located in your center somewhere. I'll watch. Secretly hidden. Away from faceted reality. Staring at the blinds. Replacing the dusty old lampshades.
Reason for writing:
The will to write is in me and comes forth every time I blink. I feel this is something ahead of me. You figure out the real concept : ) Please respond
Birth sign: Leo
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